


Of Poetry and Padawans

by saraid



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:25:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gonn helps Obi-Wan out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Poetry and Padawans

It was stupid, being a cliche. 

Walking in his Master's shadow, one step behind and to the left of the larger man, who was predominantly right-handed, Obi-Wan deliberately distracted himself. If his Master were left-handed, Obi-Wan would have walked to his right, to protect the weak side, though weak was a relative term. 

The idiosyncracies of Master-Padawan customs notwithstanding, Obi-Wan hated being a cliche. But this entire mission could have been lifted from an Initiate training text. 

First the warring factions bickered endlessly, then it began to rain - and continued - leaving the two of them essentially trapped in a small ceremonial building with an assortment of natives suffering from various levels of frustration, and only the Jedi to vent it on if they wanted peace between their peoples. 

Which, fortunately, they did. Fortunately for them. And for Master Jinn, who achieved another presumed-impossible success, and that glory would reflect well on his Padawan. 

His frustrated, exhausted, terminally horny Padawan. 

He was a healthy twenty-year-old man. with the same urges and desires of other human males his age. There were strict rules for Jedi padawans concerning sexual urges and release. 

Simply put, it was forbidden. Relationships and emotional entanglements could only distract them from the grueling, demanding path of their lives, and there were too few of them to be lost. 

The rule was rigorously enforced. becoming sexually active was the same as leaving the Order, and al of them knew it. Very few made it this far to lose control of themselves over something so trivial. 

Control of bodily functions was taught from an early age. But it was also considered important for adult Jedi to have emotionally fulfilling, physically satisfying relationships- after they achieved knighthood. 

Padawans existed in that contradiction. It was important for them to control themselves, and to become comfortable with the idea of sex at the same time. For that reason, self-gratification was encouraged. 

And Obi-Wan indulged as need and desire allowed. He had hormones, after all. But they always chose to kick in at the worst possible times. Just as he'd been taught they would. 

So this past month, in that little building with his Master and those natives, who had taboos against body-shyness, while he'd been supporting Qui-Gon through the Force and running errands and generally being the perfect Padawan, he'd been going nuts inside. 

There had been no privacy, little sleep and lots of exhaustion. Now they were back on Coruscant - he'd suffered silently through the several-hour Council briefing, and on his way back to the rooms he shared with his Master and his neglected body was staging a rebellion. 

He was hard and aching just at the thought that he would shortly have an opportunity to relieve the built-up frustration. 

Just a few minutes more, and he would be alone, and naked, and sprawled over his own bed... 

 

________________________________________

 

Damn it to all Sith hells. 

Damn the mission, and damn the Council, and damn his thrice-cursed cock. 

Nearly bursting with frustration, Obi-Wan dropped his cramping hand from his sore cock, letting his arm flop onto the wrinkled bedclothes as he bit back a groan of frustration. 

Not that his Master wouldn't know what he was doing. It was common practice for master to keep a light mental 'tab' on an apprentice, just to catch any problems before they started, and Qui-Gon was probably more concerned than the average master, after Xanatos and all. But Obi-Wan had never begrudged him the contact, knowing well that he was fortunate to have one of the best Masters in the order. 

He had learned more from Qui-Gon Jinn than any of the other padawans his age had learned from their Masters. Although mildly embarrassed by his current condition, he knew that Qui-Gon would never comment on it. The man was serenity personified, even if Obi-Wan was well aware of the price his Master paid for that serenity. The emotional and physical toll it took upon him to maintain it hour after hour, day after day. Obi-Wan often loaned his own youthful energy to that effort. 

Sometimes, though, he regretted his Master's serenity. It made him aloof, a very private man. They didn't have quite the warm, loving relationship Obi-Wan would have preferred. Like Bant had with her Master. Theirs was a strong friendship, but not a close one. 

The thought of Bant almost managed to quell his arousal. He would never tell his amphibian friend that he occasionally used her image in that fashion. Now he banished it from his mind and returned his attention to his erection. 

His poor cock was red, and angry-looking, drooling from the tip. Obi-Wan had never seen how anyone could consider one of these things attractive, but it could certainly give pleasure, 

If he weren't so Force-cursed frustrated that it wasn't cooperating. 

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan lay his head back on the pillow. The linen felt cool and clean. 

He raised a hand and ghosted it over his chest. Just as he'd been told to, he had learned what he liked, so that one day he could tell a lover. 

Light touches over ribs ands flanks, harder on nipples and navel - twisting slightly, making them burn. 

He burned with need. 

His free hand closed over his cock, holding it with the same grip he used on his light saber - and he had heard those jokes, of course - and he stroked himself firmly. The oil on his hands was still slick, it didn't evaporate very quickly. 

The need grew quickly, but once again he found himself hanging at the edge of the abyss; desperate to fall over, but held back by something. 

He couldn't define it, couldn't control it, and it was a terrible feeling, to be right there, on that edge, and unable to step over... 

He moaned, deep in his chest, teeth gritted as he stroked harder, making the thin skin of his cock sting, but that wasn't enough. he needed something more... something... 

About to scream as the frustration built, unable to stop stroking himself, Obi-Wan writhed on his bed, heedless of the noise he was making, eyes tightly shut, teeth leaving deep white imprints in his lower lip as he fought to overcome his body's inexplicable reluctance to come. 

So caught up in his inner battle was he that Obi-wan didn't notice the door opening, and didn't notice the form that loomed in the darkness of his room, that stood at the foot of his bed. 

He couldn't help but notice the thick, blunt, warm finger that slipped between his asscheeks and pushed slowly into him, sending a searing spike of pleasure through his body. 

Shocked, he stiffened, eyes flying open. His hand didn't stop. it was like it wasn't listening to his brain anymore, but his body was still. 

The sensation was so new, so powerful, that he thought he might burst into tears. 

It was exactly what he wanted. 

He looked up, and saw his Master. Wearing only a light sleeping robe, one hand at his side, the other between Obi-Wan's legs, the older man shook his head, just enough to make his hair ripple, and then he added a second finger. Like the first, it was slicked with oil, and warm and strong, and Obi-Wan nearly wept to feel it. 

Qui-Gon's eyes were on him. The Master did not look upon him with lust, but there was deep affection in his eyes, and an eagerness to his gaze as it stroked over Obi-Wan's body, a near-physical caress. 

The fingers moved and Obi-Wan's body took over abruptly. 

His legs came up, knees high, he exposed himself to that gaze, and shoved his body down on the fingers that touched him so intimately, and it was so close to perfect that he screamed with relief. 

YES! 

This was what he wanted, what he had needed so badly. 

With his eyes on Qui-Gon's, he fucked himself roughly on those fingers, one hand digging into the bed for leverage, the other pumping his cock frantically. 

There, in his bed, before his Master's eyes, Obi-Wan lost control. Gave it up; completely, willingly, eagerly. 

He became a creature of sensation, and he reveled in it. 

Qui-Gon stood between his raised legs, and watched with appreciation, and approval. 

It didn't last, Obi-Wan wanted it to go on forever, but his body was determined now and he shoved himself down one more time, hard, and his Master's fingers pressed the spot inside, the one Obi-Wan had been told about but never felt, and he came so hard that his jaw snapped and his brain rattled and he thought he might pass out. 

The relief was so great that he just lay there, unable to breathe, for as long as he could. 

He felt his Master gently remove his fingers, wiping them casually on the small towel Obi-Wan had carried in to clean up with afterwards. 

The Qui-Gon tenderly cleaned him off, and pulled the covers over him, and tucked him in, brushing the sweaty braid from the side of his neck, where it had stuck. 

Obi-Wan watched him, and thought that he should be ashamed, or at least embarrassed, but all he felt was grateful. 

Grateful and loved. 

Qui-Gon bent over the bed and whispered into his ear, the first time he'd spoken since coming into the bedroom. 

"Rest now." 

His lips brushed obi-Wan's forehead and he straightened, and turned to leave, but the younger man reached out with a still-trembling hand and caught the sleeve of his robe. 

"Master...?" He had to ask, to know. 

Qui-Gon turned back, and graced him with a smile. The small private smile that Obi-Wan had previously only seen shared with others; others like Masters Windu and Yoda. 

People that he knew his Master loved deeply. 

"On occasion, Obi-Wan..." He paused, and touched the hand that grasped at him, just a brush of fingertips across the back of it. Obi-Wan shivered. 

"On occasion, a Master is allowed to help." 

Obi-Wan let his hand drop, and his Master left. 

Sleep claimed him quickly in the wake of such a powerful experience, and his dreams were hazy, but pleasant. He was positive that there was something in them about a tall, aloof Jedi Master that hid a soul of poetry. 

Perhaps that was a cliche, but it was one he welcomed eagerly.


End file.
